Meet John Donovan
by Stephen Finch
Summary: Harry Dresden may be the only publicly listed wizard, but he certainly isn't the only one. Here's a short story about another wizard just trying to live his exceptionally long life.    Please read/review. Enough good reviews and I'll write a longer story.


Jeremy is the White Council's representative here in Washington DC. An 85-year-old witch doctor, he likes to think he is the most important wizard next to the Merlin, and decides to prove it by putting on airs that would make most European royalty feel uncomfortable. And when that doesn't work, he likes to throw his weight and title around in front of those weaker and often less intelligent than he is.

Problem is, like all wizards, I really can't stand people with a lot of power trying to pick on the ones that don't. Especially when that person happens to live down the hall from me.

My name is John Donovan. I'm a resident of Washington DC, and in my day I have dealt with a lot of bullies. I've been around to see the rise and fall of tyrants, dark gods (you would not believe the shit some of those cults got up to in the 70s), and was even part of the strike team tasked with taking down Kemmler during that whole mess in the late 50s. But Jeremy has to be the only man in all that time that I have ever wanted to really hurt.

"Let me DOWN John! The White Council will not stand for someone bullying their representative." He tried to spit at me, but the saliva instantly froze when it hit the sphere of ice I had encased him in. I kept my eyes on him and forced myself to keep a straight face and not let out a harsh laugh. Its not like he could have hit me anyway, what with him being ten feet up in the air and all.

Like I said, I hate bullies.

"I'm sorry Jeremy, it's a little hard to hear you over the sound of that apology I'm waiting for."

"Fuck apologizing, you've assaulted an officer of the White Council…"

"For bullying a low level practitioner for shorting out a few lights on the metro after her boyfriend dumped her. You threatened to turn her into the Wardens for Christ sake. Oh, and you threw a fireball at me when I tried to intervene and make sure you didn't make her dehydrated from all the crying," I growled, quickly loosing my patience.

The woman in question was my neighbor Mellissa. When you live to be 170, you tend to get a bit lonely, and Mellissa one of my only friends in this city. She lived in the apartment building that I owned and lived in (I bought it for cheap back in the late 60s, back in the good old days when DC was a warzone and warehouses could be bought from the mob for a hundred bucks and a few suits bewitched to stop bullets), and when she kept complaining about her lights flickering on and off, I realized after replacing my tenth fuse that maybe it wasn't the wiring that was the issue. I had taken her under my wing, introduced her to the world of magic and started instructing her in how to control and eventually master her admittedly modest talent.

Jeremy of course had a different take on the situation. He, like so many other members of the Council, saw in Mellissa someone with the potential of being a threat to the safety and security of all the other practitioners in the city. His solution was to either bully them into submission or until they cracked and he had to call in a Warden, take credit in front of the Merlin for protecting the capital of the US (he would probably make it sound like he protected the entire free world just for good measure) from a dangerous warlock, and got a pat on the back and a gold star.

"You better not push me John."

"Oh really? Way I see it I can push you anywhere I want to." I moved my hand and made the ball of ice drift closer to the giant bay window in the corner of my apartment. "If I wanted to push you out that window for instance, sure I'd have to repair the glass, but think of the interesting theories news channels would come up with for a man who was found on the street encased in a perfect sphere of ice. The media circus would go on for weeks, and I could just sit back and watch the whole thing."

"I'm serious John…"

"So am I Jer. After a few centuries, a guy has to get his kicks somehow. I mean I can't play videogames so I have to do something, right?"

"John, let me down or I swear…"

"Or what? You're hovering ten feet above my living room floor in a shell that will probably finish thawing sometime in May. What could you possibly have to leverage me with?"

Of course, I knew exactly what he was going to say. For all Jeremy's idiocy, he knew how to get information and hold it over someone's head for decades. I had stopped him bullying my neighbor, but he was still the long hard arm of the law in this town, and pushing him would make him respond in kind.

"I still have you listed as a mid-level wizard on the Council's registry John, meaning that you get to fly below their radar and avoid contact with everyone in Edinburgh who may still know you from the old days. Imagine their reaction when they realized that the John Donovan living in DC, whom I have testified can't even levitate a twig for more than a few seconds, is one of the most powerful wizards in the Western Hemisphere? Is the same John Donovan who helped take down Kemmler? The same John Donovan who mentored a certain Warden named Justin DuMorne? I hear that that kid in Chicago Harry Dresden proved that DuMorne was dirty. Had a whole plan to overthrow the Council. I can only imagine how it would look if they found out that one of their top summoners and combat wizards faked his own death, moved to a major metropolitan area and was linked to one of the biggest security breaches in Warden history."

I ground my teeth together and stared up at his smug face. The bastard knew how to play the cards he was dealt, and he knew exactly what to say to shut me up and make me acquiescent. Turning my back, I flicked my wrist, infusing the motion and words I uttered under my breath, with a modicum of magical will.

What most fiction books on magic get wrong is that the words you say to work your magic ultimately don't matter. It is the conviction behind the words that count. Everyone uses different words, languages and pronunciations to do basically the same thing. I knew one guy who, whenever he wanted to work a spell, would switch to using Klingon. It all depends on your personality and your training. I personally used Chinese because that's where I did most of my formative magical study.

"Bing YueLiang," I hissed through gritted teeth. Instantly the ice turned to vapor and Jeremy was freed from his spherical prison

Ten feet over hardwood floors.

I refused to turn around and instead resigned myself to just listening to the crunch of his body hitting the floor. I've had worse times.

Jeremy picked himself up and stared at me with pure hatred in his eyes. Just before he opened his mouth, I turned around and said with as much threat and malice as I could muster,

"Jeremy, I have let you go. Get out of my building now while you still have legs to walk with." I infused the last few words with all the frustration and anger that I felt having some power-hungry bureaucrat have be by the short ones. He stopped, and for a moment I could tell his façade faltered and that, for a second, he was afraid.

Reading minds one of the few things forbidden by the Laws of Magic because it's only real use is manipulation and control. High-class wizards don't need to read minds as long as you can read the latent energy surrounding someone. All people give off certain energies that fluctuate and change depending on their mood. Some call it chi, some chakra, and those who smoke entirely too much weed or believe in "mother earth" and "brother coyote" call it an aura. I'm sure you've thought to yourself once or twice how someone having a bad day just seems to make the air around them feel full of frustration and anger. That's you reading an aura. Of course, your ability and mine is like comparing the human eye to an electron microscope.

That's why you never play poker with a wizard, or in Jeremy's case, a game of chicken. He put on a brave face, but he knew that if he took another step, he would overplay his hand. And for all his posturing and bullying, he knew what I was capable of if he pissed me off.

He turned on his heel, stormed out the door and slammed it shut so hard it dislodged some of my photos on my wall. With a snap of my fingers and the words "Zhi shang" the pictures righted themselves and I was left in the apartment alone. I started pacing back and forth, growling under my breath.

God I hate being a wizard.


End file.
